


Full Definition

by creepymura



Category: Trainspotting (1996)
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Sexuality Crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10071104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creepymura/pseuds/creepymura
Summary: If watching their friend's sex tape had gone a little differently.





	

The shoddy little television screen crackled with static as it started up, the tape inside rewinding as soon as the button on the front of the console was pushed.  

Renton sat back down on the sofa without any kind of grace, and busied himself with rolling a joint absentmindedly as the tape was rewinding. Sick Boy had already nicked one from him earlier, smoking and squinting at the television screen in the darkness of the flat. Renton always insisted on keeping the curtains drawn, weird bastard that he was.

“If y’have that much in a joint, you’ll white out after one hit.” Sick Boy warned, peering over at the overstuffed rizla, breathing out heavy smoke and tapping ash onto a dirty plate at his feet. Renton ignored him and licked along the edge of the rizla quickly, rolling it tight and reaching for the lighter on the other side of the dusty, old sofa. He just shrugged, since this was hardly the first time that Renton ignored his advice before and it wouldn’t be the last.

The tape finished rewinding and automatically started up again at the beginning of the footage, the visual of Lizzie’s smiling, albeit embarrassed, face blaring in poor definition. 

“Why are we watchin’ this exactly?” Sick Boy asked with a raised eyebrow, a questioning glare. “Like, I know you’re experimental but I dunno if that means y’have t’know what ya friend’s cock looks like.”

Renton let out a rough snort-like laugh over his joint, almost choking on the thick smoke.

“Blackmail maybe.” He said through little chuckles, making himself comfortable again, thumping his chest to get all the coughs out. “If Tommy’s into the weird shite, I could get a pound or two outtae it.”

“Oooh aye, Mr Renton.” Sick Boy grinned with a laugh himself. “Positively villainous. You’ll be givin’ me a run for my money if ya keep up like this.”

"Don't think I'll ever get that close, mate."

-

Barely five minutes in, the tape was so vanilla, it was boring. 

Fine, Tommy's dick was decently sized, they both look good naked (as young people did) but that was about it in terms of content worth paying attention to.

The pair watched the television in an awkward kind of silence, smoking heavily, getting progressively more high as time went by, but ultimately incredibly bored. Sick Boy almost felt guilty for finding his friends sex tape so boring (though that would have made for a weird conversation if he'd ever brought it up.) Renton finished his joint and leant back against the sofa, like he was melting into it, watching the softcore porn through hazy, red eyes. 

"Rents." Sick Boy started, stubbing his own joint out on the dirty plate. "No offence to y’taste or nothin’, but this is fuckin' shite."

"Aye, is a bit, ennit?" Renton slurred quietly, body slumped against Sick Boy's shoulder, unable to even hold his head up after smoking. 

Being a lightweight was good, if you were to consider how little it took you to get fucked up, but it was bad when you couldn't keep up with everyone, and all you wanted to do was be a useless piece of shit and drink to excess, smoke heavily or shoot up like everyone else did, but you were out of it within the first five minutes.

It all depended on why you did it in the first place, probably.

The camera angles on the tape were badly executed but Sick Boy has to give them credit for trying something different. The new position was difficult to depict with the camera placement, but it looked like Lizzie was riding Tommy now, soft ample breasts bouncing as she moved, lips parted with moans and whines. He must have been the one holding the camera, and his free hand moved into shot to grope her, making her let out more noise, before it slipped down her hip to support her position better. 

Lovesick sweet talk is simpered between them, between frantic kisses, and it made Sick Boy frown at how vile it all sounded. Closeted homosexual or not, these two were doing nothing to convince him straight sex was worth his time. Least his sex with girls was somewhat adventurous, daring. Had to be for him to get half a stiffy, admittedly, but still.

"Don't think y'gonna find anythin’, mate." Sick Boy muttered, leaning over to the pocket of his jacket for his tobacco to roll another fag (barely enough gange to bother on another joint.) Renton made a soft sound of recognition, his head falling against Sick Boy's thigh when he leant up, body language relaxed to a point of near ridiculousness.

Silly cunt put too much gange in the joint so he was absolutely fucked. 

Sick Boy just ignored him, ignored his new position and looked on at the telly, though that barely kept his attention (though, again, the position change suited him a little better. Still horribly vanilla, mind.)

He thought about suggesting a skag shoot up for maybe a second, but rethought it considering the state Renton was already in. No. Weed and tobacco would fill his needs for now, though it, of course, never felt as good as heroine.

Few things ever really do feel that good though.

His train of thought was halted, however, when Renton sat up a little and started to undo his belt without any kind of warning first.

"Oi, what're ya doin', ya ballbag!" Sick Boy was quick to sit up on the sofa, his fag supplies strawn over his lap, over the sofa, giving Renton a hard shove like he was trying to force him away. 

"Si, come on, jus' let me." Renton was whining for it, looking up at Sick Boy with a look in his eyes that he immediately recognized. How he looked at Johnny Swan, Mikey Forrester and any other crackhead dealer they could buy off of when he was desperate. Like a disciple looking at a martyr. 

"Mark." Using his Christian name always meant that they were talking serious shit. Like an unspoken rule between them and their friend group. "Mate, you're smashed. Cannae do that when ya like this."

"I'm sober, alright?" Renton still hadn't moved his hands from Sick Boy's belt. "I'll do everythin'. Don't even have t'look down if ya don't want to."

Sick Boy didn't answer, but when he let his belt get unbuckled, let him push his jeans down, let him touch his half hard dick that had already perked up from the sudden attention, the answer didn’t even need to be said. 

Renton's mouth was warm and wet, his tongue soft on the head of his dick as it delicately lapped at the dripping slit, just before taking it all in. He was gentle for a smack head, but Sick Boy could tell that he wasn't paying much attention to anything outside of his dick. His stolen pornography filled the empty flat with sound, despite how shit the speakers were on the telly. 

Sick Boy groaned in time with Tommy on the screen, biting down hard on his lip as he pressed Renton's head down further, bucking his hips to press more of his dick down his best friend's throat. This wasn't the first time they'd done this, nor would it be the last, but thinking about it that way still made Sick Boy's stomach knot.

Renton was good at this, knew how to moan against a dick for it to feel good, how to deepthroat like a champ, how much eye contact was too much. He’d not only done this before, but he’d had practice with it too. Sick Boy tried to keep quiet while he worked him over, not wanting any words that might have had any meaning to spill out of him. For all Renton knew, Simon Williamson was straight as anything, thank you very much. No chance of any midnight rendezvous with skinny little queens at gay bars when no-one would be able to see him or recognize him without giving him ammunition themselves. No chance of fooling around with his best friend even when they weren’t high enough to forget it the next day. No chance that he sometimes looked at said best friend for too long and get knots in his stomach.

He almost envied Renton for being so fluid around such issues like sexuality and gender and all that shite, how he could do this and not think twice about his attraction to any genders, not have to rethink his entire being whenever he slept with anyone. No, he could do anything he liked. 

Lucky bastard.

Sick Boy pushed his head down harder, just to spite him a little more, make him gag and splutter a little, and the tightness of his constricted throat feels like fucking heaven. His head fell back against the sofa cushion as he moaned, deep and heavy, still thrusting lazily inside his hot, tight mouth because he never stops, never hesitates, took his roughness like a champ. 

Renton was touching himself when he could finally pay attention again, a hand stuffed down the front of his boxers, slowing jerking his dick in time with sucking Sick Boy's. Seeing that alone made his dick ache harder, knowing how much Renton was getting off just sucking his dick, meaning Sick Boy could probably get away from this thing without giving him anything in return for his services.

Not that he would have said no if he was asked, mind. But people rarely liked it when you were gagging for a fuck.

It was fucking good though. He barely had to pull back from the constant thrusting and Renton’s gag reflex (or lack there of) wasn’t an issue, not considered because how rarely it was ever a problem. Sick Boy liked pushing in deep, making him forget to breath for just a second so his eyes watered and drool pooled down his chin, before he pulled back again because he wasn't a sadist, by all means, just curious from time to time. Renton kept that sort of rough pace though, and Sick Boy held his head down when the timing felt apt, fingers tracing over his scraggly, shaved hair. 

"Did the tape get ya horny or was it somethin' else?" Sick Boy asked absentmindedly, his lazy thrusting still unrelenting.

"Something else." Renton slurred when he could, pulling his mouth away from his dick and looking up at him with a cheeky smile. "The tape's crap." Took it back in.

"Aye." 

He didn't push what "something else" might have been. Just let Renton finish up before his high wore off and he regretted whatever this might have been.

When Sick Boy started to fidget underneath him, when he pressed his head down more and dug his short nails into his scalp, Renton knew he was close, and knew to speed up, focusing on deepthroating his length, swallowing against it so his throat was tight and constricted in a way that always drove him wild. He couldn't make any words that made any sense but that was a good thing. His head barely worked so he could have said any random shit, any love confessions that rarely meant anything because he absolutely wasn't hopelessly in love with his best friend and fucking him, being fucked by him, doing all of this absolutely wasn't helping with this infatuation. 

When he cums down his throat, no word of warning, Renton fucking moans, looking up at him like that was the hottest thing anyone had ever done to him, and Sick Boy has to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from making anymore noise to fuel the sick fucker’s ego as he slowed down, sucking and lapping the head clean.

"Fuckin’ hell, Rent Boy." He muttered, running a shaking hand through his hair. "Really should be chargin' for shit like that."

"Eh, maybe." He said, sitting back up and leaning against the arm of the sofa, grinning, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'll let y'have it for free if you wank me off though."

Couldn't argue with that.

Renton's jeans were already half way down his thighs from before, and his dick was pressed up against his boxers so beautifully that it made his mouth water just looking at it. 

Sick Boy gripped him tight, twisting his wrist with quick enough tempo that Renton couldn't maintain any cool kind of composure over him, and nor should he. He bucked his hips into Sick Boy's grip with long groans, soft little whimpers, clinging onto him just to allow himself some kind of anchor before he lost it completely.

The drugs made sex feel good. Especially gange. Skag less so, because climaxing barely felt as good as shooting up in the first place and it was just a nice little bonus to the end of a binge. But gange meant they floated on a pleasant high that didn't stop them from cumming or feeling the shivers of orgasm, just added to it. Ecs made for interesting stories to tell and long, messy orgy-like fucking, but it was hardly an intimate kind of drug. Mostly because you could barely remember what had happened the morning after when you woke up with some codger in a gimp suit asleep in your bath and your Mrs still wearing a strap on at the foot of your bed.

No. Gange was perfect for things like this.

Renton let out shivery moans and whines as he got closer to climax, clinging onto Sick Boy hard, pressing his face against his shoulder, just to muffle out any sounds. From the way he was whimpering, the cunt sounded like he'd never been touched in his life. Sick Boy slowed down a little, just to tease, to draw it out, but Renton was so wound up, he was probably going to cum from such a slow tempo alone. 

"Y'get off on suckin' my cock, Rent Boy?" Sick Boy purred, and his grip got tighter, slower, rubbing a thumb over his dripping slit. "Certainly seems so. Hard as a fuckin' rock."

"Shut the fuck up, ya mouthy cunt." Renton growled, digging his nails into Sick Boy's shoulders as his hips jutted with the harsh grip. 

"Y'gonna make me?"

Renton kissed him hard suddenly, arms around his neck, already rough and biting at his lip, just to shut up his attempts at dirty talk or whatever subtle gloating he might have spouted. When Sick Boy kissed back, matching the aggression, they're sprawled on the sofa together, suddenly no kind of haze on their brains, the sound from the tape on the telly completely ignored and enveloped only in each other. Tongues pressed together, groaning against each other's lips, desperate for this outlet that was so rarely presented to them.

Renton came barely seconds after that, spilling over Sick Boy's fingers with a groan that tipped his head back. It added to the already potent smell of spunk that resonated in the flat, but it was something hardly considered after so much time getting used to it. Sick Boy continued to slowly work him over, leaving light lovebites down his neck before Renton pushed him away, but he's smiling so that made it better.

He wiped his fingers on the stained sofa cushions, and like that the whole thing is forgotten. Renton's back to rolling another joint, using the last of the gange he had. The tape must have stopped at some point while they were busy, because an old episode of Father Ted was playing. Tommy must have taped over it. 

Sick Boy thought about admitting to Renton that he loved him in that moment. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the setting. Maybe watching Lizzie and Tommy say it so much had inspired him. Whatever it was, it felt like a good moment to say it, so he wasn't sure why he suddenly decided against it. Not the right time, he insisted to himself, as he went back to the fag he had rolled before. 

He didn't know when he was going to find the right time, if there was ever going to be a right time. 

So he didn't say anything and neither did Renton. They just smoked and watched episode after episode of shit telly to drown out any thoughts of each other that they might have had.

After, Sick Boy suggested a shoot up and Renton agreed to it. They said every week that they were going to give up, but they always found a reason to go back to it. Sick Boy's reason was clear, Renton's was muddied among so many different things that there was never anything concrete enough to blame. Sick Boy considered for a moment if this was going to be the rest of their lives. Fucking without feeling, watching shite telly and shooting up until they were too old to do any of those things.

But that would mean that they would have a life to lead.

When they had already made their choices.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> simon and mark are bad friends and by mutual exchange they should give tommy their sex tape now.
> 
> i seem to always write sick boy as having a sexuality crisis for some reason. i'll write a T2 one where he's a bit more stable on being gay at some point. i want his happiness
> 
> whipstickagocock.tumblr.com  
> ray x


End file.
